Ha, but in all seriousness having one of these doesn’t instantly make me a know it all when it comes to fashion. Sure I know how to dress myself, what suits my figure and how to look good and in the case that I don’t I pray my friends tell me.
But if you were to throw me in a room with a chick and ask me to dress her for an event I’d most likely break out in a cold sweat and cry for my Mummy.
I don’t know the latest fashion trends, I don’t save a month’s wages for a new Mulberry bag and I’d rather sit front row at the opening of a new restaurant than any fashion show you could offer me.
And that’s ok. Being a girl doesn’t automatically mean style runs through my blood. The clothes on my back don’t define who I am on the inside although I draw the line at wearing something that isn’t clean or has holes in it.
I have some class people.
I simply adore the instagram accounts of fashion bloggers I follow and how effortlessly they throw threads together to create a look that’s shiny and new. It’s as though they have a pair of shoes of every day and sunnies to match. Colour co-ordinated. Perfection.
I pretty much live in my Birkenstocks outside of work.
And don’t even get me started on how IMPRESSED I am for those of you that can pose; no no, pose WELL in these fashion shots of yours. In the few outfit photos I’ve ever posted I look a mixture of mid orgasm and death. So awkward.
I’m that impulse buyer who wears the same pair of denim shorts for three months and prefers gym clothes to a new dress. An event or night out is so frickin fun for me because it means I get to dress up all sassy and show the world that I’m not always a sweaty mess who runs around in Cotton On gear. Who knew right?
And the best part of that night??? Returning home, kebab in hand which has most likely dripped down said dress and climbing into my pjs.
Hats off to you stylish ladies who spend your days looking like you belong in the Devil Wears Prada Movie – I’m in awe of how effortlessly stylish you are.
And hats off to the rest of us, secretly more interested in what our next meal will be all snug in our (you’ve guessed it) trusty pyjama bottoms.
To close, as the great Miranda Priestly would say…